 | CHAPTER XIII. The headsman, or, The Abbaye des Vignerons |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
And when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood wink'd Justice, who shall tell thy audit?
Cotton.
The buffoon and the pilgrim, though of a general
appearance likely to excite distrust, presented themselves
with the confidence and composure of innocence.
Their examination was short, for the
account they gave of their movements was clear
and connected. Circumstances that were known
to the monks, too, greatly aided in producing a
conviction that they could have had no agency in
the murder. They had left the valley below some
hours before the arrival of Jacques Colis, and they
reached the convent, weary and foot-sore, as was
usual with all who ascended that long and toilsome
path, shortly after the commencement of the storm.
Measures had been taken by the local authorities,
during the time lost in waiting the arrival of the
bailiff and the châtelain, to ascertain all the minute
facts which it was supposed would be useful in
ferreting out the truth; and the results of these inquiries
had also been favorable to these itinerants,
whose habits of vagabondism might otherwise
very justly have brought them within the pale of
suspicion.
The flippant Pippo was the principal speaker in
the short investigation, and his answers were
given with a ready frankness, that, under the circumstances,
did him and his companion infinite
service. The buffoon, though accustomed to deception
and frauds, had sufficient mother-wit to
comprehend the critical position in which he was
than to attempt effecting his ends by any of the
usual means of prevarication. He answered the
judge, therefore, with a simplicity which his ordinary
pursuits would not have given reason to expect,
and apparently with some touches of feeling
that did credit to his heart.
“This frankness is thy friend,” added the chatelain,
after he had nearly exhausted his questions,
the answers having convinced him that there was
no ground of suspicion, beyond the adventitious
circumstance of their having been travellers on
the same road as the deceased; “it has done much
towards convincing me of thy innocence, and it is
in general the best shield for those who have committed
no crime. I only marvel that one of thy
habits should have had the sense to discover it!”
“Suffer me to tell you, Signor Castellano, or
Podestà, whichever may be your eccellenza's proper
title, that you have not given Pippo credit for
the wit he really hath. It is true I live by throwing
dust into men's eyes, and by making others think
the wrong is the right; but mother Nature has
given us all an insight into our own interests, and
mine is quite clear enough to let me know when
the true is better than the false.”
“Happy would it be if all had the same faculty
and the same disposition to put it in use.”
“I shall not presume to teach one as wise and
as experienced as yourself, eccellenza, but if an
humble man might speak freely in this honorable
presence, he would say that it is not common to
meet with a fact without finding it a very near
neighbor to a lie. They pass for the wisest and
the most virtuous who best know how to mix the
two so artfully together, that, like the sweets we
put upon healing bitters, the palatable may make
the useful go down. Such at least is the opinion
to merit than having learned his art on the Mole
and in the Toledo of Bellissima Napoli, which, as
everybody knows, is a bit of heaven fallen upon
earth!”
The fervor with which Pippo uttered the customary
eulogium on the site of the ancient Parthenope
was so natural and characteristic as to
excite a smile in the judge, in spite of the solemn
duty in which he was engaged, and it was believed
to be an additional proof of the speaker's innocence.
The châtelain then slowly recapitulated
the history of the buffoon and the pilgrim to his
companions, the purport of which was as follows.
Pippo naïvely admitted the debauch at Vévey,
implicating the festivities of the day and the known
frailty of the flesh as the two influencing causes.
Conrad, however, stood upon the purity of his life
and the sacred character of his calling, justifying
the company he kept on the respectable plea of
necessity, and on that of the mortifications to
which a pilgrimage should, of right, subject him
who undertakes it. They had quitted Vaud together
as early as the evening of the day of the
abbaye's ceremonies, and, from that time to the
moment of their arrival at the convent, had made
a diligent use of their legs, in order to cross the
Col before the snows should set in and render the
passage dangerous. They had been seen at Martigny,
at Liddes, and St. Pierre, alone and at
proper hours, making the best of their way towards
the hospice; and, though of necessity their progress
and actions, for several hours after quitting
the latter place, were not brought within the observation
of any but of that all-seeing eye which
commands a view of the recesses of the Alps
equally with those of more frequented spots, their
arrival at the abode of the monks was sufficiently
of the intervening time had been wasted by
the way. Thus far, their account of themselves
and their movements was distinct, while, on the
other hand, there was not a single fact to implicate
either, beyond the suspicion that was more or less
common to all who happened to be on the mountain
at the moment the crime was committed.
“The innocence of these two men would seem
so clear, and their readiness to appear and answer
to our questions is so much in their favor,” observed
the experienced châtelain, “that I do not deem
it just to detain them longer. The pilgrim, in
particular, has a heavy trust; I understand he performs
his penance as much for others as for himself,
and it is scarce decent in us, who are believers
and servants of the church, to place obstacles in
his path. I will suggest the expediency, therefore,
of giving him at least permission to depart.”
“As we are near the end of the inquiries,” interrupted
the Signor Grimaldi, gravely, “I would
suggest, with due deference to a better opinion and
more experience, the propriety that all should remain,
ourselves included, until we have come to a
better understanding of the truth.”
Both Pippo and the pilgrim met this suggestion
with ready declarations of their willingness to
continue at the convent until the following morning.
This little concession, however, had no great
merit, for the lateness of the hour rendered it imprudent
to depart immediately; and the affair was
finally settled by ordering them to retire, it being
understood that, unless previously called for, they
might depart with the reappearance of the dawn.
Maso was the next and the last to be examined.
Il Maledetto presented himself with perfect steadiness
of nerve. He was accompanied by Nettuno,
the mastiffs of the convent having been kennelled
late to stray among the rocks by day, and to return
to the convent in the evening in quest of food,
the sterile St. Bernard possessing nothing whatever
for the support of man or beast except that which
came from the liberality of the monks, every animal
but the chamois and the lämmergeyer refusing
to ascend so near the region of eternal snows. In
his master, however, Nettuno found a steady friend,
never failing to receive all that was necessary to
his wants from the portion of Maso himself; for
the faithful beast was admitted at his periodical
visits to the temporary prison in which the latter
was confined.
The châtelain waited a moment for the little stir
occasioned by the entrance of the prisoner to subside,
when he pursued the inquiry.
“Thou art a Genoese of the name of Thomaso
Santi?” he asked, consulting his notes.
“By this name, Signore, am I generally known.”
“Thou art a mariner, and it is said one of courage
and skill. Why hast thou given thyself the
ungracious appellation of Il Maledetto?”
“Men call me thus. It is a misfortune, but not
a crime, to be accursed.”
“He that is so ready to abuse his own fortunes
should not be surprised if others are led to think
he merits his fate. We have some accounts of
thee in Valais; 't is said thou art a free-trader?”
“The fact can little concern Valais or her government,
since all come and go unquestioned in
this free land.”
“It is true, we do not imitate our neighbors in
all their policy; neither do we like to see so often
those who set at naught the laws of friendly states.
Why art thou journeying on this road?”
“Signore, if I am what you say, the reason of
my being here is sufficiently plain. It is probably
more exacting of the stranger than you of the
mountains.”
“Your effects have been examined, and they
offer nothing to support the suspicion. By all appearances,
Maso, thou hast not much of the goods
of life to boast of; but, in spite of this, thy reputation
clings to thee.”
“Ay, Signore, this is much after the world's
humor. Let it fancy any quality in a man, and
he is sure to get more than his share of the same,
whether it be for or against his interest. The
rich man's florin is quickly coined into a sequin
by vulgar tongues, while the poor man is lucky if
he can get the change of a silver mark for an
ounce of the better metal. Even poor Nettuno
finds it difficult to get a living here at the convent,
because some difference in coat and instinct has
given him a bad name among the dogs of St.
Bernard!”
“Thy answer agrees with thy character; thou
art said to have more wit than honesty, Maso,
and thou art described as one that can form a
desperate resolution and act up to its decision at
need?”
“I am as Heaven willed at the birth, Signor
Castellano, and as the chances of a pretty busy
life have served to give the work its finish. That I
am not wanting in manly qualities on occasion,
perhaps these noble travellers will be willing to
testify, in consideration of some activity that I may
have shown on the Leman, during their late passage
of that treacherous water.”
Though this was said carelessly, the appeal to
the recollection and gratitude of those he had
served was too direct to be overlooked. Melchior
de Willading, the pious clavier, and the Signor
Grimaldi, all testified in behalf of the prisoner,
skill, the Winkelried and all she held would irretrievably
have been lost. Sigismund was not content
with so cold a demonstration of his feelings.
He owed not only the lives of his father and himself
to the courage of Maso, but that of one dearer
than all; one whose preservation, to his youthful
imagination, seemed a service that might nearly
atone for any crime, and his gratitude was in proportion.
“I will testify more strongly to thy merit, Maso,
in face of this or any tribunal;” he said, grasping
the hand of the Italian. “One who showed so much
bravery and so strong love for his fellows, would
be little likely to take life clandestinely and like a
coward. Thou mayest count on my testimony in
this strait—if thou art guilty of this crime, who
can hope to be innocent?”
Maso returned the friendly grasp till their fingers
seemed to grow into each other. His eye,
too, showed he was not without wholesome native
sympathies, though education and his habits might
have warped them from their true direction. A
tear, in spite of his effort to suppress the weakness,
started from its fountain, rolling down his sunburnt
cheek like a solitary rivulet trickling through a
barren and rugged waste.
“This is frank, and as becomes a soldier, Signore,”
he said, “and I receive it as it is given, in
kindness and love. But we will not lay more stress
upon the affair of the lake than it deserves. This
keen-sighted châtelain need not be told that I could
not be of use in saving your lives, without saving
my own; and, unless I much mistake the meaning
of his eye, he is about to say that we are fashioned
like this wild country in which chance has
brought us together, with our spots of generous
fertility mingled with much unfruitful rock, and
himself by doing an evil turn to-morrow.”
“Thou givest reason to all who hear thee to
mourn that thy career has not been more profitable
to thyself and the public,” answered the judge;
“one who can reason so well, and who hath this
clear insight into his own disposition, must err less
from ignorance than wantonness!”
“There you do me injustice, Signor Castellano,
and the laws more credit than they deserve. I
shall not deny that justice—or what is called justice—and
I have some acquaintance. I have been
the tenant of many prisons before this which has
been furnished by the holy canons, and I have seen
every stage of the rogue's progress, from him who
is still startled by his first crime, dreaming heavy
dreams, and fancying each stone of his cell has
an eye to reproach him, to him who no sooner
does a wrong than it is forgotten in the wish to
find the means of committing another; and I call
Heaven as a witness, that more is done to help
along the scholar in his study of vice, by those
who are styled the ministers of justice, than by
his own natural frailties, the wants of his habits, or
the strength of his passions. Let the judge feel
a father's mildness, the laws possess that pure justice
which is of things that are not perverted, and
society become what it claims to be, a community
of mutual support, and, my life on it, châtelain,
thy functions will be lessened of most of their
weight and of all their oppression.”
“This language is bold, and without an object.
Explain the manner of thy quitting Vévey, Maso,
the road thou hast travelled, the hours of thy passages
by the different villages, and the reason why
thou wert discovered near the Refuge, alone, and
why thou quittedst the companions with whom
The Italian listened attentively to these several
interrogatories; when they were all put, he gravely
and calmly set about furnishing his answers. The
history of his departure from Vévey, his appearance
at St. Maurice, Martigny, Liddes, and St.
Pierre, was distinctly given, and it was in perfect
accordance with the private information that had
been gleaned by the authorities. He had passed
the last habitation on the mountain, on foot and
alone, about an hour before the solitary horseman,
who was now known to be Jacques Colis, was
seen to proceed in the same direction; and he admitted
that he was overtaken by the latter, just as
he reached the upper extremity of the plain beneath
Vélan, where they were seen in company,
though at a considerable distance, and by a doubtful
light, by the travellers who were conducted by
Pierre.
Thus far the account given of himself by Maso
was in perfect conformity with what was already
known to the châtelain; but, after turning the rock
already mentioned in a previous chapter, all was
buried in mystery, with the exception of the incidents
that have been regularly related in the narrative.
The Italian, in his further explanations,
added that he soon parted with his companion, who,
impatient of delay, and desirous of reaching the
convent before night, had urged his beast to greater
speed, while he himself had turned a little aside
from the path to rest himself, and to make a few
preparations that he had deemed necessary before
going directly to the convent.
The whole of this short history was delivered
with a composure as great as that which had just
been displayed by Pippo and the pilgrim; and it
was impossible for any present to detect the slight
meeting with the other travellers in the storm
Maso ascribed to the fact of their having passed
him while he was stationary, and to his greater
speed when in motion; two circumstances that
were quite as likely to be true as all the rest of the
account. He had left the Refuge at the first
glimpse of dawn, because he was behind his time,
and it had been his intention to descend to Aoste
that night, an exertion that was necessary in order
to repair the loss.
“This may be true,” resumed the judge; “but
how dost thou account for thy poverty? In searching
thy effects, thou art found to be in a condition
little better than that of a mendicant. Even thy
purse is empty, though known to be a successful
and desperate trisler with the revenue, in all those
states where the entrance duty is enforced.”
“He that plays deepest, Signore, is most likely
to be stripped of his means. What is there new
or unlooked-for in the fact that a dealer in the
contraband should lose his venture?”
“This is more plausible than convincing. Thou
art signalled as being accustomed to transport
articles of the jewellers from Geneva into the adjoining
states, and thou art known to come from the
head-quarters of these artisans. Thy losses must
have been unusual, to have left thee so naked. I
much fear that a bootless speculation in thy usual
trade has driven thee to repair the loss by the
murder of this unhappy man, who left his home
well supplied with gold, and, as it would seem, with
a valuable store of jewelry, too. The particulars
are especially mentioned in this written account
of his effects, which the honorable bailiff bringeth
from his friends.”
Maso mused silently, and in deep abstraction.
He then desired that the chapel might be cleared
his judges. The request was granted, for it was
expected that he was about to make an important
confession, as indeed, in a certain degree, proved
to be the fact.
“Should I clear myself of the charge of poverty,
Signor Castellano,” he demanded, when all the inferiors
had left the place, “shall I stand acquitted
in your eyes of the charge of murder?”
“Surely not: still thou wilt have removed one
of the principal grounds of temptation, and in that
thou wilt be greatly the gainer, for we know that
Jacques Colis hath been robbed as well as slain.”
Maso appeared to deliberate again, as a man is
apt to pause before he takes a step that may materially
affect his interests. But suddenly deciding,
like a man of prompt opinions, he called to Nettuno,
and, seating himself on the steps of one of the
side-altars, he proceeded to make his revelation
with great method and coolness. Removing some
of the long shaggy hair of the dog, Il Maledetto
showed the attentive and curious spectators that a
belt of leather had been ingeniously placed about
the body of the animal, next its skin. It was so
concealed as to be quite hid from the view of those
who did not make particular search, a process that
Nettuno, judging by the scowling looks he threw
at most present, and the manner in which he
showed his teeth, would not be likely to permit to
a stranger. The belt was opened, and Maso laid a
glittering necklace of precious stones, in which
rubies and emeralds vied with other gems of price,
with some of a dealer's coquetry, under the strong
light of the lamp.
“There you see the fruits of a life of hazards
and hardships, Signor Châtelain,” he said; “if my
purse is empty, it is because the Jewish Calvinists
the jewels.”
“This is an ornament of rare beauty and exceeding
value, to be seen in the possession of one
of thy appearance and habits, Maso!” exclaimed
the frugal Valaisan.
“Signore, its cost was a hundred doppie of pure
gold and full weight, and it is contracted for with
a young noble of Milano, who hopes to win his
mistress by the present, for a profit of fifty. Affairs
were getting low with me in consequence of sundry
seizures and a total wreck, and I took the adventure
with the hope of sudden and great gain.
As there is nothing against the laws of Valais in
the matter, I trust to stand acquitted, châtelain,
for my frankness. One who was master of this
would be little likely to shed blood for the trisle
that would be found on the person of Jacques Colis.”
“Thou hast more,” observed the judge, signing
with his hand as he spoke; “let us see all
thou hast.”
“Not a brooch, or so much as a worthless
garnet.”
“Nay, I see the belt which contains them among
the hairs of the dog.”
Maso either felt or feigned a well-acted surprise.
Nettuno had been placed in a convenient attitude
for his master to unloosen the belt, and, as it was
the intention of the latter to replace it, the animal
still lay quietly in the same position, a circumstance
which displaced his shaggy coat, and allowed the
châtelain to detect the object to which he had just
alluded.
“Signore,” said the smuggler, changing color,
but endeavoring to speak lightly of a discovery
which all the others present evidently considered
to be grave, “it would seem that the dog, accustomed
master, has been tempted by success to undertake
a speculation on his own account. By my patron
saint and the Virgin! I know nothing of this second
adventure.”
“Trifle not, but undo the belt, lest I have the
beast muzzled that it may be performed by others,”
sternly commanded the châtelain.
The Italian complied, though with an ill grace
that was much too apparent for his own interest.
Having loosened the fastenings, he reluctantly gave
the envelope to the Valaisan. The latter cut the
cloth, and laid some ten or fifteen different pieces
of jewelry on the table. The spectators crowded
about the spot in curiosity, while the judge eagerly
referred to the written description of the effects of
the murdered man.
“A ring of brilliants, with an emerald of price,
the setting chased and heavy,” read the Valaisan.
“Thank God, it is not here!” exclaimed the
Signor Grimaldi. “One could wish to find so true
a mariner innocent of this bloody deed!”
The châtelain believed he was on the scent of a
secret that had begun to perplex him, and as few
are so inherently humane as to prefer the advantage
of another to their own success, he heard both
the announcement and the declaration of the noble
Genoese with a frown.
“A cross of turquoise of the length of two inches,
with pearls of no great value intermixed,” continued
the judge.
Sigismund groaned and turned away from the
table.
“Unhappily, here is that which too well answers
to the description!” slowly and with evident reluctance,
escaped from the Signor Grimaldi.
“Let it be measured,” demanded the prisoner.
The experiment was made, and the agreement
was found to be perfect.
“Bracelets of rubies, the stones set in foil, and
six in number,” continued the methodical chatelain,
whose eye now lighted with the triumph of
victory.
“These are wanting!” cried Melchior de Willading,
who, in common with all whom he had
served, took a lively interest in the fate of Maso.
“There are no jewels of this description here!”
“Come to the next, Herr Châtelain,” put in Peterchen,
leaning to the side of the law's triumph;
“let us have the next, o' God's name!”
“A brooch of amethyst, the stone of our own
mountains, set in foil, and the size of one-eighth of
an inch; form oval.”
It was lying on the table, beyond all possibility
of dispute. All the remaining articles, which
were chiefly rings of the less prized stones, such
as jasper, granite, topaz, and turquoise, were also
identified, answering perfectly to the description
furnished by the jeweller, who had sold them to
Jacques Colis the night of the fête, when, with
Swiss thrift, he had laid in this small stock in trade,
with a view to diminish the cost of his intended
journey.
“It is a principle of law, unfortunate man,” remarked
the châtelain, removing the spectacles he
had mounted in order to read the list, “that effects
wrongly taken from one robbed criminate him in
whose possession they are found, unless he can
render a clear account of the transfer. What hast
thou to say on this head?”
“Not a syllable, Signore; I must refer you and
all others to the dog, who alone can furnish the
history of these baubles. It is clear that I am little
known in the Valais, for Maso never deals in
trifles insignificant as these.”
“The pretext will not serve thee, Maso; thou
triflest in an affair of life and death. Wilt thou
confess thy crime, ere we proceed to extremities?”
“That I have been long at open variance with
the law, Signor Castellano, is true, if you will have
it so; but I am as innocent of this man's death as
the noble Baron de Willading here. That the Genoese
authorities were looking for me, on account
of some secret understanding that the republic
has with its old enemies, the Savoyards, I frankly
allow too; but it was a matter of gain, and not
of blood. I have taken life in my time, Signore,
but it has been in fair combat, whether the cause
was just or not.”
“Enough has been proved against thee already
to justify the use of the torture in order to have
the rest.”
“Nay, I do not see the necessity of this appeal,”
remarked the bailiff. “There lies the dead,
here is his property, and yonder stands the criminal.
It is an affair that only wants the forms, methinks,
to be committed presently to the axe.”
“Of all the foul offences against God and man,”
resumed the Valaisan, in the manner of one that
is about to sentence, “that which hastens a living
soul, unshrived, unconfessed, unprepared, and with
all its sins upon it, into another state of being and
into the dread presence of his Almighty Judge, is
the heaviest, and the last to be overlooked by the
law. There is less excuse for thee, Thomaso Santi,
for thy education has been far superior to they
fortunes, and thou hast passed a life of vice and
violence in opposition to thy reason and what was
taught thee in youth. Thou hast, therefore, little
ground for hope, since the state I serve loves justice
in its purity above all other qualities.”
“Nobly spoken! Herr Châtelain,” cried the bailiff,
“and in a manner to send repentance like a
dagger into the criminal's soul. What is thought
and said in Valais we echo in Vaud, and I would
not that any I love stood in thy shoes, Maso, for
the honors of the emperor!”
“Signori, you have both spoken, and it is as
men whom fortune hath favored since childhood.
It is easy for those who are in prosperity to be
upright in all that touches money, though by the
light of the blessed Maria's countenance! I do
think there is more coveted by those who have
much than by the hardy and industrious poor. I
am no stranger to that which men call justice,
and know how to honor and respect its decrees as
they deserve. Justice, Signori, is the weak man's
scourge and the strong man's sword: it is a breastplate
and back-plate to the one and a weapon to
be parried by the other. In short, it is a word of
fair import on the tongue, but of most unequal
application in the deed.”
“We overlook thy language in consideration of
the pass to which thy crimes have reduced thee,
unhappy man, though it is an aggravation of thy
offences, since it proves thou hast sinned equally
against thyself and us. This affair need go no
farther; the headsman and the other travellers may
be dismissed: we commit the Italian to the irons.”
Maso heard the order without alarm, though he
appeared to be maintaining a violent struggle with
himself. He paced the chapel rapidly, and muttered
much between his teeth. His words were not intelligible,
though they were evidently of strong, if
not violent, import. At length he stopped short, in
the manner of one who had decided.
“This matter grows serious,” he said: “it will
admit of no farther hesitation. Signor Grimaldi,
you have not the most perfect confidence.”
“I see none to be distrusted,” answered the
surprised Genoese.
“Then will I speak.”
| CHAPTER XIII. The headsman, or, The Abbaye des Vignerons | |